


Oh the redhead said you shred the cello (and I'm jello)

by Dodger



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-30
Updated: 2012-06-30
Packaged: 2017-11-08 20:39:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,098
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/447327
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dodger/pseuds/Dodger
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>SecretCellist!Kaner AU-type thing. Johnny finds out hockey's not the only thing Kaner's really good at.</p><p>He doesn’t really know what he expects, but he certainly doesn’t expect to hear music coming from behind Kaner’s door. He leans closer, because the music is pretty soft, and clearly not Drake or Kanye which is even more baffling, and then he realizes that it’s classical music. Like, with no lyrics or whatever, which is really sending up the red flags.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Oh the redhead said you shred the cello (and I'm jello)

**Author's Note:**

> Okey doke, this is kind of a quasi-au in that Kaner didn't leave home at 14, he actually went to high school and it was one of those mythological schools where sports and the arts are equally important. Suspend the disbelief, folks.

Logically, Johnny knows it makes absolutely no sense for him to be heading to Kaner’s condo. Really, it’s just another symptom of the thing he’s referring to in his head as The Problem. He knows he’s not there, because if Kaner were in town, he would have left some overwhelmingly obnoxious voice mail, text, or voice mail and text on Johnny’s phone, and so far, nothing. 

There’s a small chance he could still be avoiding everyone; ever since what Johnny has come to know as the Great Kaner College Shitshow of 2012 and its subsequent reporting on Deadspin, Pat’s kind of gone to ground. It was the right move to make, Johnny thinks, remembering the voicemail he’d gotten from Kaner stating he was “going off the grid” for a bit. He’d sounded exhausted and frustrated and so fucking sad, and Johnny remembers the ridiculous helplessness he’d felt after listening to it and finds himself absentmindedly rubbing his chest a little, as if soothing an old ache. Maybe it’s that remembered feeling, along with how much he finds he genuinely misses Kaner (Another part of The Problem) that sends him over there. 

He doesn’t really know what he expects, but he certainly doesn’t expect to hear music coming from behind Kaner’s door. He leans closer, because the music is pretty soft, and clearly not Drake or Kanye which is even more baffling, and then he realizes that it’s classical music. Like, with no lyrics or whatever, which is really sending up the red flags. Clearly someone who is not Kaner has somehow managed to get inside his condo and play music involving violins or shit, so Johnny puts his key in the lock and opens the door, ready to burst in and catch some random asshole messing with Kaner’s stuff, but he gets no further than the entryway before he freezes.

The music is way louder once the door is open, and Johnny quickly realizes that no, the clarity and volume of the music is not a nod to Kaner’s awesome sound system, it’s because it’s music is being played live. By Kaner. 

Well, Kaner and some girl Johnny doesn’t know, but his mind hovers on that for maybe a second before it stalls and then breaks down completely on Kaner. He can’t take his eyes away from what he sees, partly because he’s pretty sure he’s having a stroke of some sort, and partly because he’s struck by how fucking beautiful it all is.

Kaner is sitting barefoot in a chair in front of one of the big windows in the room and settled between his legs is a massive cello. He is playing it with the same quiet intensity Johnny has seen on the ice, his fingers jumping on the strings, his eyes closed but his brow furrowed in concentration, his head jumping and jerking with the music. When Johnny can drag his eyes away from Kaner’s face he watches his other hand, gripping the bow delicately but sure, radiating skill and competence and moving fast. He finds a part of himself noting and admiring the amount of coordination that and precision the cello seems to demand, but most of him is still focused on JesuschristKanerthisisKaner . 

The music itself is absolutely lovely. It’s light and harmonious and the cello and violin (oh hello there, other person, Johnny thinks crazily) dance and trip over each other and then smooth out side by side in harmony and pull out gorgeous notes, complementing each other.Johnny’s not necessarily one for Classical music, but he’s not a complete dumbass either and he knows beauty and complication when he hears it and that is exactly what this is. 

The sunlight is catching in Kaner’s hair, all backlit and golden and Johnny randomly thinks of those old movies his old girlfriends made him watch occasionally and the word dappled comes to his mind unbidden. The sunlight is dappled and spilling across Kaner and that girl (that Johnny still doesn’t know anything about) and she’s playing the violin with the same effortless grace as him. Her eyes are closed too, her body moving with the motion of the music and her fingers are flying over the bow. It looks like all they’re missing are floor length dresses or capes and tea or something for it to be perfect and from another time. Johnny has somehow stepped into a Merchant Ivory film starring his best friend.

But it can’t be perfect. It’s Kaner.

When they finish the piece, Kaner opens his eyes and turns to look at the girl, that slow, easy smile all the girls swoon over spreading across his face. He still hasn’t even noticed that Johnny’s in the room yet. Then he goes, “BOOM, WHAT,” and throws down the bow ,and just like that, the spell is broken. 

Jesus, Kaner.

“Oh please, “ the girl scoffs. “That was nothing, absolutely nothing, you rusty-ass motherfucker.”

Whoa, okay. Johnny thinks. 

“I totally still got it,” Kaner replies smugly, and he’s got that look on his face that immediately tells Johnny, and apparently the girl by the way she rolls her eyes, that no matter what anyone says to him he’s going to think this is true, and that haters are just going to keep hating.

“Um, no,” she says emphatically. “You missed a few things back there, hoss. You’d probably still be able to move your ass around the strings if you hadn’t fucked up your wrist playing that stupid ass game.”

And okay, Johnny feels this is as good a time as any to announce his presence. “Um. Hey.” 

Four eyes dart up to stare at Johnny, both sets are startled, but the girl’s eyes are startled and wary. 

Kaner eyes dart around like he’s been caught doing something super illegal and not just playing the cello and he swallows a few times before he speaks. “Johnny? What are you doing here?”

What are YOU doing here?, is what Johnny wants to ask, but it’s not like Kaner hasn’t asked him a legitimate question. He’s going to have to give a legitimate answer. “I was, just checking up on your stuff, I guess?”

What.

“What?” Kaner asks, his face scrunching up. “Why would you need to--”

“Why didn’t you say you were back in town? Why didn’t you call?” Johnny butts in, cutting off Kaner’s completely rational questions at the pass. He doesn’t have time for this, he’s got questions of his own, thanks. Plus, the girl is sort of staring at him like he’s talking Spam, like he’s both fascinating and appalling, and Johnny can’t deal, he can’t find his footing. Why didn’t Kaner call him? 

“I,” Kaner starts, scratching the back of his head, “I just sort of got into town, I guess I just needed a few days to settle or whatever.”

He doesn’t say anything after that, just sort of grips his cello a little tighter and manages to look everywhere but Johnny. He looks kind of squirrely, like he wants to dart under something and hide and he’s making a good run at it behind the cello. Something sinks in Johnny’s stomach because as much as he’d like to deny it, it looks like Kaner wants Johnny to be anywhere but standing in front of him right now. Johnny frowns and swallows down a flare of anger because what the hell.

Suddenly, “Well if you’re gonna be an asshole, I’ll just introduce myself,” The girl says to Kaner, stretching out a hand to Johnny. “I’m Margo. One of Patrick’s high school friends. I’m sure he’s never mentioned me.” 

Johnny takes her hand and shakes it, mumbles a hi, but really what else is he supposed to say? Kaner hasn’t mentioned her, and if he’s going to honest, she doesn’t look any of the girls Johnny usually sees Kaner hanging around. Her hair is dark red and goes a little past her shoulders. She’s got freckles scattered like buckshot across her face and her mouth is pursed a little, like her resting face is that of someone about to tear someone else a new asshole. She looks sharp and smart and put together and what the fuck is Kaner doing, knowing a girl like that?

“And you must be the great captain Jonathan Toews,” Margo continues. “I actually have heard a thing or two about you.” Says it in a way that clearly means she’s heard more than a thing or two, and now despite the fact that she’s still sort of looking at him with something approaching distaste, Johnny’s curious. What could have Kaner said to her about him that has her looking at him like this and she’s never even met him? Before he can ask what sorts of things she’s heard, and to remind her that Kaner (sorry, Patrick) is a lying, big-mouthed, jerk, she pivots and walks over to where Kaner is still parked. “And that performance? Was shit. You know it, I know it, but whatever. That’s cool. You’ve got hockey,” and wow, Johnny can barely hear the word hockey through the snarl. “I just don’t get why--”

“Margo,” the name is sharp and loud. “Just unclench for like, a sec.” 

Margo glares at Kaner. Kaner glares back. Johnny is confused as all fuck and not okay with it at all. After a standoff that lasts a few seconds, they both seem to notice that Johnny is still in the room. Margo’s face softens minutely as she looks at Johnny. “I’m going to go,” she says softly. “Your captain here looks like he’s about to punch something out of sheer frustration. I think you have some explaining to do, so I’m just gonna roll the fuck up outta here.” She packs her violin away and kisses Kaner on the forehead, who leans into it. “I’ll talk to you later, okay?” Kaner nods, his eyes closed and mumbles a goodbye. Then, it’s just the two of them.

“So. The cello.” Johnny begins, once they’ve stared at each other for what seems like forever.

“Yup.” Kaner says back. “Yup.”

Johnny is about to start demanding some answers when Kaner cuts him short. “I’m really, kind of tired.” he explains, and Johnny takes a second look and sees that he doesn’t just look tired, he looks exhausted. “Can we just,” Kaner says waving his hand, “postpone all this for a little bit?”

Everything in Johnny wants to say no. He wants to put on his C and demand answers. But he got that C for a reason, and one of which is that he knows his players. He knows when to let something go. It’s a little harder for him to let things with Kaner go, for a number of reasons, but in the light of figuring out that he has way more feelings for Kaner than he previously realized, he figures it’s probably even more important now that he backs off, lest he do or say something crazy in the heat of feeling emotions or some shit. 

“Yeah, sure.” he says, “ but don’t think that this gets you out of talking. This is a time-out, that’s all.”

Kaner waves his hand, but looks relieved. “Yeah, yeah,” he says. 

Johnny leaves Kaner’s apartment and goes home and doesn’t sleep at all. 

Johnny always figured that being in love would be one of those bolt of lightning things. He’d meet someone and he’d just know, right off the bat. Turns out that while that shit may happen in movies, sometimes it sneaks right the fuck up on you and leaves you completely untethered. Unhinged. Out of Control. So when he begins to feel these things in conjunction with him realizing that in a perfect world he and Kaner would eat strawberry waffles and play hockey and win the cup a few more times together forever and ever, it gets labeled as A Problem.

Kaner is his best friend for none of the reasons that everyone else sees, the loud mouth, the annoying incessant chatter. He loves Kaner because he wears his massive heart on his sleeve, tripping over himself to give it to whomever asks; because when he thinks no one is listening or looking, he’s ridiculously perceptive and thoughtful, and because despite all outward appearances, no one works harder on the ice than Kaner. The fact that he can play with such unabashed joy and not lack focus or talent is a constant amazement to Johnny, and he’s sort of just now letting himself admit that. 

Three years ago, he knows that there’s no way he would have admitted to anyone or himself that he found some part of Kaner amazing. When he decides be totally honest with himself, he finds many, many parts of Kaner amazing, but in the past he’s not really been in the habit of being totally honest with himself about Kaner. Somehow now, things have changed.

\---

It takes three days, three days of Johnny being a good captain and friend and giving Kaner space before Kaner calls him up for some Call of Duty and a few explanations.

“So yeah, I play the cello,” Kaner says, calm and focused and apparently not interested in pausing the game or making eye contact while he talks to Johnny about something he’s been keeping secret all this time.

“Yeah, I figured that much when I saw you playing,” Johnny snaps, his eyes on the game. It’s irritating, but if this is the way Kaner wants to play it, that’s fine. He just wants to know what’s going on.

“Are you gonna be a douche about this?” Kaner whines.

Okay, that’s it. Johnny pauses the game, ignoring Kaner’s indignant squawk and faces him.

“Am I going to be a--what the--what the fuck, Kaner?” Johnny explodes. “I haven’t heard from you in weeks, not since all that Madison shit and the Deadspin stuff,” and Johnny notes Kaner’s winces at that. Good. “and I then I come by your place, and you’re not only there, you’re fucking playing a classical instrument like it’s the only thing you’ve ever done in your life! How am I supposed to act? How am I the douche when you’re the one who goes off the fucking rails, jeopardizes his hockey career, and oh, hides the fact that he’s a fucking musical genius or some shit from his best friend?”

Johnny’s breathing hard, but when his vision clears he notices Kaner’s kind of curling in on himself on the sofa and looks absolutely wretched. All the anger boiling in Johnny is replaced with worry and he immediately finds himself backpedaling just to get that damned kicked puppy expression off of Kaner’s face.

“Look,” he says, quieter this time, “I just didn’t understand. I mean, can you just tell me what happened?” 

Kaner is quiet for a minute then says, “You mean with Madison, or, with the cello?”

“All of it, I guess.”

Kaner breathes. “Well, Madison was--just a bad, bad time. I mean, I guess I was feeling like shit after our playoff run, and I felt like I just sucked the whole season--”

“You know that’s bullshit, right?” Johnny interjects. “You did what you had to do. You stepped up when I couldn’t be there.”

Kaner shrugs. “Whatever, I guess I just felt like I was failing at everything, and I’m--not good with like, life crisis management or whatever. I fucked up. I drank too much, was a complete asshole, and got caught being a complete asshole. Just the worst. I had to get away for a bit, so I headed back home.”

“My sisters, of course, gave me unending shit, which they had every right to do. I think other than knowing I let you down, knowing I let them down was the worst.” Johnny’s heart trips a bit over that, he knows how much Kaner’s family means to him.

“So,” Kaner goes on, “I kind of grounded myself. I mean my parents and sisters helped, but I kind of established some ground rules for myself and didn’t break them. I stayed in Buffalo. I cut back on drinking. I did awesome stuff with my family. Then one day, I ran into Margo at the store picking up some stuff for my mom.

“This is where you tell me how on earth someone as ridiculous as yourself learned to play the cello,” Johnny says lightly. Kaner’s kind of scowling at himself, probably remembering the stuff he did this summer, and Johnny doesn’t want Kaner to beat himself up or anything, he just wants answers. “Because, I gotta tell you, bud, I didn’t see that shit coming.”

Kaner’s eyes light up and he chuckles. There it is. “Right?!” he says, kind of laughing. “You should have seen your fucking face.”

“Fuck you, you should have seen yours, asshole,” Johnny retorts. “You were looking at me like I just caught you in women’s underwear.”

“Shit man, you wish you could catch me in women’s underwear. I’m a fucking goddess.”

Johnny’s laugh gets sort of caught in his throat and he has to swallow for a second. “Just finish the story, you crazy fuck,” he half croaks.

Kaner sighs, and continues. “So I run into Margo at the store and she’s all, well, you’ve seen her face, just thunderstorms and bitchiness--”

“What’s that all about anyway? How do you--”

“Are you gonna let me finish?”

Johnny scowls. “Whatever.”

“So she’s in the store, staring at me and judging me as hard as you,” Kaner says, “but it’s not about hockey. She doesn’t comment on the Deadspin shit, I’m not even sure she knows what Deadspin is, and instead starts giving me shit about music and my cello playing and for a second there, it’s like I didn’t leave high school and play hockey, I went with Margo to Juilliard instead--”

“Wait, what?!” 

“I got to see what it might have been like to be another me. Someone who wasn’t known for hockey and punching cabbies.”

“Back it right the fuck up, Patrick.” Kaner jerks a little at the use of his name. “What do you mean Juilliard? Juilliard, like, that famous music school?”

“That one.” Kaner replies. 

“Explain.” 

“So the high school I went to was pretty awesome. It was all about well-rounded people and becoming good citizens of the world or whatever, so you know, people got involved in lots of stuff. There were kids who focused on one thing in particular, but it was cooler at my school to know how to do a lot of things really well. I happened to kick ass at hockey and the old violoncello.” 

“Uh-huh.”

“But, as I got older, I sort of realized I loved hockey more. My parents were supportive, either way, but when I started throwing myself into hockey, my music friends were pretty pissed.” His eyes go distant for a second but then he waves his hand, dismissively. “But whatever, fuck it. I made the right decision.” 

Johnny believes that too. He can’t imagine how different his life would have been without Kaner in it. He might joke about not being partners with Kaner but actually thinking about how close it came to happening leaves him cold. 

“So anyway, Margo comes up and gets in my face like it hasn’t been years since we last saw each other, and the next thing I knew, we were arguing in the grocery store about music and how I could still play the Handel-Halvorsen Passacaglia for Cello and Violin with both my hands tied behind my back and then we were laughing. It was crazy. It was awesome.” Kaner smiles a little. “I don’t know. I guess I needed it. I started spending time at Margo’s parents house, and we started playing and giving each other grief again. I’d forgotten how much playing helped calm the shitstorms in my head.”

“So, what, Margo’s some kind of struggling musician?”

Kaner snorts. “Please. She plays for the New York Philharmonic. That jerk’s not gonna struggle at anything.”

There’s such a funny fondness in his voice when Kaner talks about Margo. It makes Johnny wonder. 

“So did you guys date or something in high school?” he asks.

Kaner recoils. Hard. Like someone slapped him in the face. “Shit no! Margo’s crazy. She’s super competitive and really mean. I’ve seen her break a complete stranger’s violin bow over her knee because they called her playing ‘sub-par’. I think we just get each other, as weird as that is. Had a hell of a crush on her, but no, no. Margo and I are just good friends. I love her, but she’d kill me and feed me to her babies if she had to. “ Kaner cocks his head thoughtfully. “I think that’s a little bit why I love her.” 

Johnny shakes his head. “You would think that the fact that someone would feed you to her babies makes them a prime candidate for loving them.”

Kaner leans in and bats his eyes at Johnny “It’s why I love you,” he coos.

Johnny shoves him away and hopes his face isn’t as red as it feels. “That makes no sense,” he says, when he’s sure his voice won’t do something stupid. “I wouldn’t kill you to feed my babies.”

“But you’re mean and super competitive,” Kaner points out. 

There really is no way to counter that other than a headlock. So for a little while, they wrestle and chirp each other, and it’s just like old times.

Johnny really wants to learn more about Kaner playing cello, but for some reason, Kaner’s pretty reluctant to talk about it in detail. “Dude, it’s done,” Kaner explains, when Johnny tries to get him to tell him more about playing. “It’s just some shit I did to focus my chi or whatever. I have to focus on hockey and not sucking anymore at that now.”

Only it’s not really over for Johnny, and he’s pretty sure it’s not really over for Kaner either. He’s only seen Kaner play once, but he knows that when a person plays with the amount of skill and talent that Kaner did, it’s not just over for them. It’s like saying hockey is just a thing they do because they’re good at it, which is unfathomable. 

Johnny runs into Margo of all people, while wandering around the Pritzker Pavillion in Millenium Park one afternoon half listening to the symphony orchestra that’s playing. 

“I didn’t expect to see you here,” she remarks.

“Yeah, Chicago’s a pretty big city, plus I didn’t even think you’d still be here.”

“Yeah well,” she says lazily, waving a hand. “I thought I’d stick around. I’ve got some time off, some money to burn and Patrick’s always good for when I need to crush a soul.”

Johnny knows she’s kidding, but something still catches a little, inside. “Naw, Kaner’s too much of an easy target, I think,” he chuckles. “I figured you’d go for something a little harder than that.”

She stares at him now, and Johnny thinks this might be what it’s like to be on the receiving end of one his patented silent judgment stares. She’s smirking a little, like she knows what’s going on in his head, but all she says is, “maybe you’re right. Mind if I join you?” and doesn’t bother waiting for a yes, just falling in step beside him. 

“He talked about you, you know. When he was back in Buffalo,” she says offhandedly. 

“Yeah? What did he say? Obviously it wasn’t anything too flattering, judging by the way you’ve looked at me the past few times I’ve seen you.”

Johnny sees faint pink cresting her cheeks and is surprised when she lets out a little half-embarrassed chuckle. “I have been giving you a few death glares haven’t I?”

“Only a few,” Johnny says, teasing. “Look if Kaner really has said something--”

“No, no, he hasn’t said anything bad about you, “ Margo admits, “In fact, when he said anything, it was all very positive, bordering on fucking hero-worship. Even when he called you “a crazy boring crazy Canadian with crazy eyes”, I’m pretty sure he meant that as a complement. In fact,” Margo starts, tilting her head curiously, “He actually sounded pretty--” She shakes her head then, and Johnny has never wanted anyone to finish a sentence so badly. When she does start to speak again, the train of thought is clearly not the same as before, and Johnny tries not to looks visibly disappointed.

“I was just, I don’t know--look, Patrick probably remembers our relationship in high school a little differently than I do--probably he’s mentioned that whole bow-breaking thing, or called me a crazy shark woman or something, but I considered him a good friend, and I was really pissed when he chose hockey.”

“Yeah, he told me some of his friends weren’t happy” Johnny says. Secretly he thinks that’s kind of a dick move and that you should support your friends no matter what they choose to do, but he’s not about to say that to Margo, not when she’s actually talking to him and not frowning.

Margo shakes her head. “No, Jonathan. You don’t get it. Patrick was fucking amazing. He poured everything into playing and it showed. I’ve seen instructors cry when he plays Bach. Of course, when he finishes and screams ‘BOOM! WHAT’ and throws down his bow, they cry for an entirely different reason, but the point is, when he kept his fucking mouth shut, he was golden.”

Margo blows out an exhausted breath. “Sweet Jesus, admitting that took it out of me.” Johnny can’t do anything but laugh.

“But I just thought it was such a waste, you know? To waste this complete talent to get slammed up against boards and other people, rattling around what few brain cells he has left.”

“Yeah, but Margo,” Johnny quietly points out, “ he’s golden out on the ice as well. I don’t know if you’ve seen him, but he plays like he was born for it, like he’s this big kid and it’s all he’s ever wanted. He’s fucking amazing out there, too--it’s just off the ice when he acts like a lunatic.”

Margo is quiet and when he looks over at her, she’s giving him that long, appraising look he’s become so wary of so fast, like she’s got him all figured out. 

“I couldn’t really speak to that, since I’ve never seen him play,” she says loftily. “But I believe you. That little shit.”

Johnny really doesn’t want to push, it’s turning out that he really, really likes Margo but he has to ask. “So is that it? You didn’t like me because Kaner chose hockey over music?”

“Well , that was a small, irrational part of it,” Margo admits. “look, It’s not that I didn’t like you, it’s more that I was intrigued by what kind of person could hold Kaner’s attention and esteem like you do. He was absolutely fucking wrecked when he first came back to Buffalo, and all he could talk about was how disappointed you’d be in him, how he might have ruined your friendship, and how you never would have lost your shit the way he did. It was all very interesting. 

“Actually,” Margo says after a minute, smirking. “I don’t mind you at all, really. My resting face just happens to be one full of hatred for most of humanity. Don’t take it personally.”

 

It’s weeks later and Johnny’s over at Kaner’s house playing Nazi Zombies, and he may have had one too many victory beers for getting so far past Kaner’s level when he says to Kaner, “Play for me.”

Kaner kind of stares at him and after a pause that’s a little too long, says, “What?”

“You heard.” Johnny says, staring up at the ceiling from his spot on the floor. “Play me something.”

“Naw man, I’m all set.” Kaner says. 

“Yeah, but I didn’t ask if you were all set, did I? I asked you to play for me.” Johnny insists. He hears Kaner sigh once, but other than that, he gets nothing.

“Look I know you still play, Patrick,” Johnny admits. “I know you still play because you play with Margo when she comes into town, and you two lock yourselves away-”

“How do you know what I do with Margo? How do you know when Margo is in town?” Kaner asks, and Johnny can just hear Kaner’s face scrunching up in confusion. He’s trying not to focus on how fucking cute it is and how lame it is that he thinks he can hear Kaner’s face, but jesus he’s drunk. 

“Because Margo and I are friends now.”

“Bullshit. Margo eats assholes like you for breakfast.”

“We bonded over our mutual agreement of what a complete dumbass you are.”

“Fuck you, I’m a delight. I bet you were talking about how I’m the most epic human being ever. Don’t lie.”

“You jealous?”

“No,” Kaner props himself up on his elbows and stares at Johnny. “Why?”

“I don’t know, I mean, do any of the other guys know anything about the whole cello thing? Has anyone else met her?”

“No,”

Johnny shrugs. “I figured it might be a secret.”

“Not really. It’s not a big deal,” Kaner says after a minute. “I guess I just sort of thought no one would--I mean, come on Johnny--would you have bought all this musical genius shit about me if you hadn’t seen it for yourself?”

“No one said you were a genius,” Johnny says automatically.

Kaner makes a ridiculous noise. “That’s because no one has to. It’s a fucking given.”

They’re getting off topic. “Seriously though. Fucking play something for me, man.”

“Why?” 

Why? Because it IS a big deal. Because it’s you. Because I never get tired of watching you doing something you’re amazing at. Because of your fucking face when you play. Because you’re my best friend and I didn’t know this thing about you and I’m sad that I’m didn’t. Because I’m glad I know now. 

Johnny knows he can’t go with any of those responses so he goes with,

“Are you too drunk? Is that it?” and laughs as he hears Kaner scramble off the floor and mutter “Fuck you I could play drunk and with my eyes closed.” Johnny sits up and watches as Kaner stumbles into another room and brings out the cello and sits down in a chair, still muttering about fucking assholes not know who they’re dealing with. He’s too fucking easy sometimes. 

It’s every bit as awesome as it was before. Kaner melts into the music and Johnny melts into him. Kaner’s eyes are closed and every once in awhile, that slow gorgeous smile will come out as he slides over a particular note, like he’s got some sort of inside joke with his cello, and Johnny can barely take it. He can’t get enough of his deft hands, how brilliantly they perform, and how much Kaner seems to put himself into the music. It kills him to think that Kaner would want to hide this, that he couldn’t see this anytime. There’s also a tiny part of him that’s annoyed that he actually can play this well drunk, but whatever. That part is sort of getting eclipsed in the face of the ridiculous emotions swirling inside of Johnny right now. There’s pride, and delight, and such and easy, natural affection that it almost takes his breath away. He’s watching this guy, this total douche, his best friend and occasional fuck up, and it’s as if a fucking curtain has been lifted and he knows, as certain as the sun, that he is disgustingly in love with Kaner and most likely always will be. 

There’s only so much he can repress and not, like, give himself a tumor or something, and actually, right now, he doesn’t feel like holding back. Maybe that’s why he finds himself walking over to where Kaner is playing and gently putting a hand on the hand that’s holding the neck. Kaner stops and looks up at him, slightly puzzled. “Whasa matter?” he says softly, grinning. “Is my playing not good enough for--”

Johnny covers Kaner’s mouth with his before he can finish the sentence. He doesn’t know what he’s expecting when their lips meet, but it’s certainly not the inherent feeling of right and home and I could have been doing this all along. I could do this forever. If Kaner is thrown off guard by Johnny’s mouth on his then he covers it brilliantly. He throws himself into the kiss and Johnny feels Kaner’s hand wrap around the back of his head and pull him closer. Johnny is kissing Kaner, putting all of his focus into exploring every inch of Kaner’s mouth. They’re tongues are lazily sliding against each other, and there’s no rush, no hurry to finish, just a steady warmth pooling in Johnny’s stomach and his heart tripping over itself to climb out of his chest that signals better things to come. 

When they finally pull apart, Kaner’s eyes are glazed and his mouth slack. Johnny knows he’s too far gone if the sight of him like this only makes him want to pull Kaner closer and do it again. He starts to bend down again when Kaner rasps out, “Wait. Just wait.” Johnny’s stomach sinks a little, because clearly this is the part where Kaner asks him what the fuck he’s doing, but no, Kaner just gets out of the chair, and kind of shuffles to the guest room with his cello, with a steady, “Wait, just one sec, just wait,” trailing behind him. 

He comes back, cello-free and big sloppy smile on his face. “Had to put her up,” he explains, a little shy, and Jesus if that doesn’t make something in Johnny’s chest swoop and dive. Then Kaner is on him again, kissing his mouth open, his hands clutching Johnny’s hips.

They eventually stumble into Kaner’s bedroom after stopping after every few seconds to make out. He’s ridiculously thorough, though not sloppy. He’s all skill as he bites the corners of Johnny’s mouth, placing soft kisses and tugging on his bottom lip before diving in to devour him again.

In the bedroom they collapse, onto each other, laughing and kissing, and it takes almost no time at all for them to be naked, and sliding against each other. It’s kind of turned into one big groping session, but Johnny can’t find fault with that, as it is the currently the best thing ever. With every glide of skin on skin, Johnny is wringing soft groans and little gasps out of Kaner, his hands are all over Kaner’s body, quickly followed by his mouth, sucking bruising kisses into his skin. When he finally wraps his hand around Kaner’s cock, it doesn’t take much before Kaner is moaning and tensing and spilling over his fingers. For his part, as soon as Kaner opens his eyes again, he reaches for Johnny, taking his cock in his hand, stroking and twisting, causing Johnny’s hips to stutter out of control. “Shit. Shit, I’m going to--” he stammers, and Kaner whispers, “Yeah, come on.” 

Johnny’s sure he blurted out something crazy embarrassing as he came, but he’s not really focused on that as he is currently floating in a haze of amazing, sleepy and sated and messy as fuck, and also, uncontrollably, deliriously happy. 

Johnny wakes up to his heart and his temples throbbing in time. The room is too bright, even from behind his eyelids and his breath tastes foul. “Ugh,” he groans and blindly gropes for Kaner who...isn’t there. He painfully cracks an eye open to find that Kaner’s side of the bed is empty, and the sheets are cold, “Kaner?” he croaks. After a long pause he hears a quiet, “Yeah,” coming from the living room. 

When Johnny gathers the strength to get up and trudge out of the bedroom, he sees Kaner sitting on the sectional, sort of determinedly staring at nothing. His mouth is set in a line and his face is grim and serious in a way that Johnny doesn’t think he’s ever seen. 

“Hey,” Johnny starts quietly, “What’s up?” Okay so that may not be the best way to start what is clearly going to be a serious conversation between the two of them, but last night left Johnny feeling so sweet and awesome, that he sort of thought the morning would be a happy continuation and the storm clouds looming on Kaner’s face are making that less and less likely. 

Kaner breathes. “So, last night. We had sex.”

“Right.”

Up until this point, Kaner had been looking everywhere but Johnny, but at this, he whips his head around and stares at him. “And?”

“And what?”

“Dude, we boned last night. You don’t have anything else to say about this?”

“Do you?”

Kaner scowls a little. “Not really. I figured you’d be all, ‘this was a mistake, we were drunk, I was lost on the magical waves of your beautiful music and we were drunk ‘ and some shit, and that would be that.”

“Magical waves?”

“You heard me.”

Johnny walks over to the sectional and sits down next to Kaner.

He’s hunched in on himself, and he’s looking anywhere but at Johnny, his brow furrowed. 

“Johnny, look--it doesn’t have to mean anything, I mean, I’m not gonna lie, it was fucking awesome, but I don’t know, maybe it was some sort of drunken one-off, and you were seduced by the sultry sounds of my siren-like--”

“Stop. Immediately.” 

Kaner shuts up, but he looks miserable, and it’s all Johnny can do not to reach over and kiss him again, but he’s pretty sure that going to fuck it up again. Plus, he really is tired of trying to kid himself.

“You didn’t seduce me with your sultry siren bullshit or whatever,” Johnny says. “ As if you could actually pull off seducing anyone.”

“Fuck you, I totally could.”

“Really? You think so?”

“I know so, asshole.”

“So those few girls who hooked up with you, that was all pure Kaner skill and not just a lot of shots?”

Kaner scowls. “Whatever. I know how to show somebody a good time.”

Johnny winces a little. He may have taken it a bit too far, and Kaner’s scowl is now wobbling into something a little more uncertain. 

“Well, it’s not like I can really comment,” Johnny admits. “I mean, you got me. I’m pretty into you, and I can’t blame shots or anything.”

Kaner’s eyes widen, “What the fuck does that mean?”

Johnny sighs and prays that someone will give him the patience. “Kaner, this thing we have, me and you, you know it’s always been something more, right? You’re not going to sit here and brush this thing off like it’s never occurred to you, are you?”

“No, asshole,” Kaner snaps, “But I’m not the one who took for-fucking-ever to get with the program. And it took, what? A drunken night and me playing the cello like a beast for you to get it?”

“Despite all appearances to the contrary, I don’t actually have all my shit together and it does actually take me a minute--”

“A fucking minute? Try years,” Kaner interjects

“Who the fuck said it was years?” Johnny retorts, but who is he kidding? He’s been in love with this asshole for years.

“Don’t bullshit me. I’ve loved you for four years and you’ve loved me almost as long.”

“Okay asshole, if you’ve known all this time, why didn’t you say something?”

Kaner looks down, “I didn’t actually know,” he admits, voice quiet. “I mean, I knew how I felt about you. I didn’t know you felt anything else for me. I wasn’t going to fucking spill my guts and lose my best friend, man.”

“Well, now you know,” Johnny shrugs. “It actually has been years. I don’t always know what to do with fucking feelings,”

Kaner snorts at that.

“So sometimes it takes me a little while to figure shit out,” Johnny finishes, trying really hard to suppress the need to punch Kaner in the face.

“But I did,” he goes on, “And it wasn’t about the cello thing, or maybe it was, a little. Mostly it was me finding out this other thing about you, one more thing to love about you. As ridiculous as it is, I’m fucking crazy about you for so many reasons, and the fact that you can do this, play music the way you do, the way you give yourself over just like you do in hockey, I guess it was the tipping point. I’m so fucking proud of you all the time, this was just one more thing that makes me happy that you’re, I don’t know, mine, I guess.”

Kaner’s trying to frown, but the massive smile splayed across his face is making that difficult. “Fuck you, I’m not yours.”

Johnny’s grinning in turn now, and moving closer to Kaner, bringing his hands up to hold Kaner’s face. “Fuck you, mine and no one else’s.” he says softly. Then neither of them say anything else for a long time. 

\---

The weeks pass, and they both get back into the swing of things, training, hanging out with the guys as they make their way back to Chicago, and getting ready for the upcoming season. One night, they’re all hanging out at Kaner’s when Shawzy comes across the cello after stumbling into the guest room in a drunken haze. 

“Whoa,” he calls out. “Hey Kaner, why the fuck do you have a cello, man?”

“Your mom left it here.” Kaner shoots back, not taking his eyes off the screen where he is currently dominating in Mario Kart. “It was how she seduced me. She plays Bach’s Cello suite number one in G major like a boss. I was helpless to her charms.”

“Ha fucking Ha” Shawzy replies, and stumbles his way into the bathroom. Johnny cocks his head at Kaner, and Kaner answers with a shake of his head. Johnny smiles to himself. There are a lot of things Kaner and Johnny will share with their teammates, they are family after all, but Johnny thinks back to a few nights ago when after playing the sarabande movement from Bach’s cello suite number six, Kaner had screamed himself hoarse while being impaled on Johnny’s cock and thinks that some things are meant for just the two of them.

**Author's Note:**

> This is not the first time a crazy idea has been stuck in my head, but this is the first time I've actually stuck with it and written it down.
> 
> Massive thanks to Larnbean and Cherry Vanilla for cheering me on and helping me with this, and to sorrynotsorry for being a Beta BOSS. Thanks, thanks, thanks, a million times over.


End file.
